


A New Perspective, Level Seven: Family

by Spadesjade



Series: Tom and Michelle [10]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Family Drama, Lovers Quarrel, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-23 09:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3763051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spadesjade/pseuds/Spadesjade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom and Michelle run the course of facing judge and jury: their families.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mine and Yours

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's a fluff series, but I'm warning you, angst abounds toward the end. And I will finish the second part hopefully by next week, I won't keep you guys hanging too long.

It was only fair, I told myself.

Although Tom had yet to meet my parents, he had met my brother. He wanted to, he insisted. Not too long after that party, where the picture had been taken of me wearing Tom's tie, and the rumors that Hiddleston was taken were starting to brew, my brother and very pregnant wife had met up with me and Tom for dinner.

He was so nervous. When I went to pick him up, he couldn't decide on what shirt and tie he wanted to wear. He wanted a suit, he wanted to look extremely nice, but upon seeing me in a rather casual dress, white cotton with some lace in the skirt, he agreed to ditch the suit coat. I finally convinced him that what he wore for his birthday would be fine, the waistcoat with the white shirt underneath, dark striped tie. With black trousers, he looked as sharp as a knife. He kept smoothing back his hair the entire time, a nervous gesture, and there simply wasn't anything I could do.

Because I knew. I knew that Mattie was going to judge him. I knew he was going to eye him like a protective brother...because my brother was protective. But I also knew that Tom was charming and smooth, even when he was flustered, and Mattie would like him, in the end.

Of course, looking at Iris, who was HUGE at this point, sort of drew all our attention away. Mattie was fussing over her so much, it was amazing she'd even got him to let her out of the house.

"Are you sure you felt up to this?" I asked her gently as we settled in around the table. "You have to be tired."

"I am, and I ache all the time," she admitted, "but I also am getting cabin fever and I wanted out of the house. Besides, this is the only chance I'll get to wear this dress," she added with a smirk, gesturing to the royal blue dress that flowed over her round belly and fell all the way to her feet. "Plus I get to sit and have someone serve me for a change."

"I've been making dinner just about every night this week!" Matthew protested. 

Iris rolled her eyes. "Doesn't stop Sarah from asking ME for everything every five minutes."

"Tom has a sister named Sarah," I pointed out, trying to get the conversation rolling. After shaking everyone's hand and kissing Iris' cheek, which had impressed her, Tom had fallen into a bit of a shy silence. 

"She's the oldest," Tom supplied when Iris turned to him with polite interest. "Emma is the youngest. I'm in the middle."

"Middle child syndrome?" Mattie teased. "I've seen that too many times. Explains why you're the famous actor."

"Emma's made a good go of it," Tom offered, but I was already on Mattie's case.

"Don't pretend," I scolded him. "Tom, Matthew is a certifiable fanboy. Before Comic-Con got too insane, he used to drag us down there, and he would dress up. He has every single Marvel movie on blu-ray, and took screen caps of the Iron Man suit so he could replicate it just so."

Iris rolled her eyes at this story -- my brother, God bless him, did have his own man-cave filled with classic fanboy stuff. "As long as he's prepared to let his son play with his toys, I'm fine with it."

"It's a boy then?" Tom asked.

"Yes, Stephen. Should be here next month or so."

"They're action figures," Mattie grumbled.

"Maybe if you ask Tom nicely he'll sign that bust you have of the Loki horns," I said.

Tom chuckled. "No problem, mate."

"It was a set," Matthew defended himself. "Iron man's mask, Captain America's shield, Thor's hammer and Loki's horns."

"Oh, well, if you trust me with the hammer I can get Chris to sign it," Tom offered.

Mattie lit up a little bit, although he was still trying to be cool. "That would be awesome, man, thanks."

The conversation descended into talk about Robert Downey Jr. and what he was like in real life. It was no secret that all three of us adored RDJ -- me, Mattie, and Iris -- and Tom seemed to appreciate the pressure being taken off him. When we were all relaxed the conversation got more personal, and Mattie and I exchanged war stories with Tom over various sibling scraps. Iris just enjoyed listening and speculating about how her daughter and son were going to get along, and we all commiserated about how they would adore each other and drive each other insane. 

When it was over, and I was dropping Tom off at his place, he kissed me and thanked me for letting him into my life. 

"Your brother and you don't look much alike, really," he pointed out. It was on the late side, I had work the next morning, early, and Tom wouldn't let me get out of the car, so we sat together in it for the last few minutes, talking quietly.

"He has more of my mom's features, I take more after my dad," I explained. "You'll see when you meet them."

"And when will that be?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Probably it'll have to wait until you come back to L.A.," I said. "Mom's all tense over Iris, she'll be coming out but you'll already be gone, and trust me, you don't want to meet her when she's tense."

"And your dad?"

I shrugged. "He doesn't feel very useful when it comes to stuff like that...and he and Mattie get along okay but...well. Right now it's just a bad time. After Stephen is out and everyone's hand a chance to calm down, after you come back, whenever that is...I promise I'll drive us out to Victorville and you'll get to meet them."

"I'm not trying to put pressure on you," he assured me, caressing my upper arm with his fingertips. "I just know the second you come to London I'm going to drag you to my mom's and I know she'll get both my sisters and maybe even my dad there that night, so I wanted to give you a fair chance to get even." We both chuckled.

"Your family is that awful? I find that hard to believe."

He shook his head. "No, they're wonderful, but it took them a long time to get that way. Mum and Dad, mostly. You're fortunate your parents are still together." He had a wistful look on his face for a moment. "Although admittedly my parents get along better now than they have in a long time."

"Well, my mom and dad haven't had the smoothest ride," I told him. "My dad was an L.A. native, but he moved to Cleveland in his twenties because he was wanting to join the big rock scene that was starting to blossom there."

"In Cleveland?"

"Oh, it was huge. You were there during Avengers, right? Didn't get a chance to go to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, did you?" He shook his head in the negative. "It was a huge place for rock. Industry and misery seem to go together, and it was a hotbed of that -- all the big rock bands came out of that area. Dad went looking to be a part of it. He's a bit of a sixties refugee, you know -- has long hair that he keeps in a perpetual ponytail, it's gray now but back then it was red. Ron Weasley red. But then he met Mom, and her parents absolutely didn't approve of him, thought he was a deadbeat. He gave up the dream, got a real job, and started a family. But the pressure from her family was just too much, and I remember them fighting a lot when I was a little kid. So in order to save their marriage, they moved to Victorville. Dad did well -- he worked for a company that made instruments, he was good at it. He liked his job, and was able to continue that back here in California. And things between him and my mom have been pretty solid since. But it was a rough start. So early on, both Mom and Dad made it clear that whoever we ended up with, it was fine, they would do their best to get along with them, because they knew what happens when a family doesn't support a child's choice. I rarely ever got to visit my mom's side of the family, and to this day we don't have much to do with them. Although Mom will make the trek to Cleveland once every few years, sometimes I go with her. Mattie used to go, although he wasn't old enough to remember Ohio much, but now that he's got Iris and the kids he won't."

"Maybe someday we'll go," Tom said, his hand rising from my shoulder to run the back of his fingers along my jaw. He smiled, and I knew he was trying to lighten my suddenly melancholy mood. It always happened when I talked about my parents' past. "You can show me the sights I missed."

I had smiled up at him, happy at the thought of a future. 

And now Tom had made good on his threat. Tonight, I would meet the judge and jury.

His rap on my hotel room door jerked me from the memories. I ran my fingers through my un-producted hair, as he had insisted, and went to answer the door.

"Hello...hel-lo!" Both were said in two very different ways. The first casual, sweet, and then the other with more emphasis, looking me up and down.

Monica, ever the fashion diva, helped me out like she had helped before. The royal blue skater dress was flattering in every way, with its three quarter sleeves, scooped neck and skirt that skimmed a mere few inches above the knee. It was solid, smooth, and casual, yet had enough umph to make me stand out. 

I was determined to impress his mother. Tom had brought home, I was sure, much more glamorous women than me, and I couldn't let myself look like the default frump. 

"You're a vision, darling," Tom said as he stepped inside. He took both my hands and held me out, then let go of one hand and used the other to give me a quick spin. 

"Monica helped me again," I admitted.

"There's a reason she's so successful as a personal stylist," Tom quipped. 

I got my footing under me again and gave Tom a once over. He was in his uniform -- white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled, with black trousers. The weather had become too fine for jackets, although I was going to take one because it would be late when we returned, and London, I had found, was notoriously cold. Even when it was warm.

I dragged my eyes up to the hair. The hair that was shorn. His pretty curls were considerably thinned now, but they still lay on his crown, mildly gelled. I couldn't help myself -- I reached up and ran a hand along the back of his head, feeling the smooth, short hair, especially where it met the back of his neck. It honestly didn't matter to me what his hair looked like, all of it was good on him -- but the back of his neck and the space under his chin were both hotspots for me.

He was grinning at me. He knew. And then I really noticed.

No facial hair. His cheeks were smooth. 

I blinked a few times. "I don't think I've ever seen you without scruff. Except in pictures," I pointed out.

He ran a hand over his cheek and throat, gave me a little shake of his head with his lips downturned. "Don't worry. It'll be back by tonight."

I removed my hand from the back of his head to feel the smoothness of his skin. I traced my fingers around his lips -- thumb on one side, index finger on the other, as he watched me skeptically.

"You know," he said with a clearing of his throat, "I refrained from groping you, even though that dress highlights parts of you in a nearly irresistible way--"

I yanked my hand back, but he grabbed it. "I'm not groping," I insisted. "Stroking, maybe--"

He just arched that eyebrow, only slightly. "So if I run my hand over your behind, it will be stroking, not groping, right?"

I felt my cheeks instantly start to heat. In the silliness of that game we'd played a few days back, telling each other the things we loved about each other, he had distinctly mentioned my backside -- and told me that my cheeks made a heart shape outline through my clothes that he continuously had to fight himself not to touch. 

Nobody had ever, in my life, ever said anything positive about my ass. The insults and barbs I'd had to endure starting in middle school until I'd graduated from high school had always contained the word "fatass" in them, in some fashion -- the absolute worst being the time someone had snuck behind me and used a long piece of masking tape to label the words "double wide" across my buttocks, and let me go all the way down the hall to my next class in that fashion, much to the amusement of those who saw it. Losing weight had helped but had not eliminated it -- my lower back curved so that my tail bone jutted outward a bit father than the average person. The fact that Tom found it so appealing was a difficult adjustment. And not one I could do anything about. But I would be lying if I didn't admit that I wanted his hands there, if for nothing else than to soothe away all the hurt and pain I'd endured over the years, and vindicate my appeal to the opposite sex.

I covered the step away I had to take from him with the context that I had to get my purse. He was still smirking at me when we left, but he kept his hands above my waist the entire time.

\-----------------------

 

The British do pride themselves on being polite. So I was not surprised when everyone put their best feet forward that night in welcoming me to Tom's mother's home. Admittedly, I was a bit thrown by all the cheek kissing, but they realized I was American and went easy on me, only teasing me lightly. Tom had always warned me that being English was synonymous with dirty, and I played to that sense of humor, telling them when they asked about any amusing hospital stories I might have about the time a one-armed man in a wheelchair wanted a sperm count -- "Who's going to hold the cup?" They all roared.

It was mostly getting-to-know-you stuff. I answered so many questions that night, and asked my own, but it was overwhelming and I knew I wouldn't remember half of it. Dinner revived me but within an hour after I was sugar crashing and struggling to keep myself from finding a darker corner of the house to curl up in and fall asleep.

Diana, who was exactly how Tom had described her, was sharp eyed and noticed my exhaustion. Sitting together on the sofa, she squeezed my hand and took me into the kitchen, offering to make me a cuppa with a much needed shot of caffeine. Tom followed within twenty minutes or so, seemingly hesitant, in case she and I were having a private mother-girlfriend conversation.

"You know, you two could stay here tonight, if you wanted," his mother said. "It's a bit of a drive back to Tom's, and I have room."

English hospitality. "It's fine, Mum," Tom said dismissively. 

"It's the weekend tomorrow," Diana went on, undaunted. "If you stayed we could have a lovely brunch tomorrow, and maybe Michelle would be gracious enough to show me how she made that exquisite tart of which we don't even have a crumb left."

I had to smile. Either out of politeness or genuine enthusiasm, the tart had been devoured not five minutes after it hit the table. Tom had made sure everyone knew I'd taught him how to make the caramel myself, which impressed the lot. 

I had to admit, it did sound lovely. And we didn't have any solid plans for Saturday, other than it being the one-week mark. 

Tom read me well. "Michelle, did you want to stay?"

"I don't want to impose," I said, even though she had offered.

"Nonsense, dear, we have the room. You and Tom can stay in the guest room together, we're not old fashioned around here, so don't worry about that."

I know she meant the comment in the best light, but it felt like I'd suddenly been hit with a tazer. I froze, my face slowly sliding.

No, I couldn't panic. She didn't know. She couldn't. I swallowed, cleared my throat, and then said, very gently, "Actually--"

"Actually," Tom interrupted, his eyes strangely hard as they glanced off me and toward his mom, "I need to double check my schedule. We'll let you know in a bit, Mom." He reached into his pocket for his phone and turned on his heel to leave.

I watched him go, then looked back at his mom. She was finishing the cup of tea and handed it to me. 

"Thank you," I said, taking it, willing myself to snap out of it. I pretty much drained the cup, standing there quietly for a few minutes, my head spinning. Tom had his reasons for cutting me off. I had to find them. I finished the cup of tea in record time, and gently put the cup back in the saucer. "I'm sorry, I need to check with Tom about his schedule."

Diana smiled at me, shooed me off. I found Tom in the hallway, away from the commotion of the rest of the house. He had his arms folded and he looked...annoyed?

"What was that?" I asked, getting right to it, but my voice low.

"My mother doesn't need to know the state of my sex life," he said, his voice brittle. 

I blinked at him, trying to absorb what was going on. I didn't want to jump to conclusions. So instead, I feel back on what we'd already established. "You're going to have to explain a bit better why you seem this peeved off," I said, my voice starting to shake a bit.

Other than the mildly drunk stupidity that had happened at his birthday party, we'd never fought before.

I was not prepared to do it at his mother's house.

Tom let out a breath, his cheeks puffing. He shook his head, rubbed the back of his neck. "It just isn't her business--"

"That we aren't sleeping together?" I interrupted, although I knew somehow I shouldn't. I felt bad about it but I had to dig harder, I couldn't take the slow and easy route. "Is that a bad thing? Something you're...ashamed of?"

He flung out his hands. "Whether we are or not, it's still not her business!"

"SHE brought it up, Tom," I said plainly. "SHE seemed to expect it. Which means, what...you've established a history with her. Have girlfriends come to meet Mom and sleep over before?"

He shrugged. "It's...well, yes. Twice at the most. The first time we snuck around and she laughed at us, saying we were being silly, that we were grown adults."

I nodded. "So what's the big deal telling her that we're different? What are you ashamed of?"

"Michelle," Tom said, and he closed his eyes momentarily, drawing himself together, his shoulder tense to the point where I could see him attempting to restrain his temper, "whether we are sexually active or not, she wouldn't understand why we couldn't even share a bedroom for a single night. Because, to be honest, even I don't."

I absorbed this. Slowly. He didn't understand why I wouldn't share a bed with him, a room with him, when the tension between us sometimes was so bad we could hardly touch each other. Even if we promised that nothing would happen and we promised to be on our best behavior, he didn't understand the danger?

No, of course he didn't. Because Tom thought he was in control. And maybe he was.

But I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to.

And I couldn't figure out how to explain it to him any more than I already had.

I felt deflated. And too damn tired for this. "If you want to stay, stay. I'm going to call a cab and head back. I'll just tell your mother my tiredness has started to turn into me feeling unwell."

Tom let out his breath in a disgruntled groan. "No, Michelle, I don't want you to leave--"

"Too bad. I do." I sighed, starting to turn.

"Why are *you* angry?" he demanded sharply, reaching out and grasping my arm. It wasn't a hard grasp, but it was enough to stop me. 

"Because I thought you understood, but you don't," I said in a very flat voice. "And I just don't know how else to explain it to you."

"Understand," he echoed, and gave a tug on my arm, wanting me to turn back to him, but I didn't. I felt his frustration and anger ratchet up with the rigid tone of his voice. "I understand, Michelle. I've honored every single request, I've never remotely pressured you, never made you do anything you didn't want to." I flinched slightly as his spittle sprayed over my skin with the emphasis of his words. "I've even embraced this for myself, for us, because it's worth it to me, even welcome...and *you still think I don't understand*?"

"Because you don't!" I snapped, spinning on him. The hand on my arm had clamped down, and upon seeing how tightly he was holding me, he immediately let go. A red outline of his fingers, the whiteness of my skin underneath, flashed briefly before things started to level out. 

And then I realized we were in absolutely the wrong place to continue this conversation. I splayed out my hands to separate us. "This conversation is over. We're not having it here."

This was not, apparently, quite good enough for Tom. "When you had your kidney stones out, I slept the first night in your recliner," he pointed out. "So it isn't like we haven't slept in the same room before--"

I felt like the top of my head was going to explode, the way my voice suddenly went subsonic as I spat, "THAT ISN'T EVEN REMOTELY THE SAME THING!"

Thankfully, my voice was so high pitched that it had almost gone past human hearing, and the shrill tone hurt more than carried. I immediately snapped my mouth shut, drew several deep breaths, and then calmly looked up at Tom, who had a nearly comical expression of embarrassment and frustration on his face. 

"I'm leaving." I started to turn again. 

"I'm taking you," Tom said, his voice husky with repressed emotion. But not the good kind. "We came together, we go together."

"Yes, because keeping up appearances is so important," I said, and then regretted it. Stupid mouth.

His only answer was a grunt.

\----------------------

Tom's darkened mood was easily explained by a morning conference call he said he forgot -- which was a lie, but he delivered it believably. Mom, however, seemed to know her son and she looked rather skeptical. Plus it was obvious to anyone who knew him well that he was upset and trying to hide it. Nobody else knew about the offer, however, so we were able to go with minimal excuse. My "not feeling well" also helped smooth the road. The fact that I was pale and mildly perspiring while also shivering under my coat only emphasized our story. 

We did not talk on the way back to my hotel. 

Truthfully, I didn't know what to say. I was stuck, mentally and emotionally. And as I had learned from my years with working with expensive electrical equipment, the best thing to do, nine times out of ten, when something wasn't working right, you rebooted.

This included humans.

I would sleep, and try again tomorrow.

Tom didn't speak to me. He let me get out of the car when we pulled up to the hotel and I scurried out, not even looking back to say goodnight. I knew when he pulled up instead of parking he wasn't going to walk me in, so I thought, why bother? He obviously wanted me away as fast as I could get.

A quite natural reaction to stress is to become suddenly sleepy. I always suspected this was one of the reasons people faint. They are escaping from an overwhelming amount of stress. So feeling like I was going to pass out was not a strange sensation. I managed to throw off my clothes and crawl under the duvet in just my underwear. It was very unusual for be to sleep without any clothing except my (as the British call them) knickers. I couldn't bear to sleep in a bra, mine were always highly constrictive.

But by 3 a.m. I was wide awake again, staring at the alarm clock. I had had horrible anxiety dreams toward the end and now my brain was spinning, running over the night in my head on an endless loop.

I realized that I was surprised that Tom's mom hadn't already known about our situation. From what I understood, he and his mother were pretty tight, so didn't it make sense that she would know the state of this important relationship? 

This led to thoughts about Tom being embarrassed about it. Why else not tell the most important person in his life? Or maybe he thought she would react badly. Considering her statement about being "old fashioned," she apparently considered herself modern and in touch with the times.

These statements did not impress me. Whenever someone told me that my morality was out of touch with the current times, I usually rolled my eyes. I didn't care what day and age we were in. Some things didn't depend on the timeline. But the last thing I wanted was to look down on or disrespect my boyfriend's mother. 

So what would Tom's mother say if she knew? Would she think I was a prude? Frigid? Or maybe something was "wrong" with me and I didn't want Tom to find out until it was too late? That I was playing some kind of game with him? How would she judge me? I had no idea and I was obviously prone to worst case scenarios. 

Especially at three thirty in the morning, wide awake and nursing my wounds. 

Truthfully, this was pretty much everything I'd ever feared. Somewhere along the line, he'd hit his limit. I didn't even see it coming -- it had blindsided me and I'd gone into panic mode. Worse than anything, it hurt. It hurt that he didn't understand, when I'd tried so hard to make him see. But each time we'd talked, there had always been that one little holdout voice that said it wasn't quite enough. 

Because the bottom line, no matter how much Tom was willing to sacrifice for me, no matter what ground he was willing to give, it came down to what he believed. And he obviously believed completely different things about physical intimacy than I did.

It wasn't that I thought it was bad, or evil, or wrong. It was that it had a place, and that place, according to what I believed, was between two married people. 

Married. Where there were no barriers or limitations. Where two people were in a state where they were absolutely free to give all of themselves because they'd committed themselves to the other. 

Truthfully, I had been raised with that attitude, but somewhere along the line I had started to understand it. You can only go through life with someone else's attitude for so long before you have to question it for its truth and value, and rediscover it. You have to own it yourself, commit to it yourself. 

I had done this. But Tom didn't share those beliefs. So far, we'd been able to navigate that path and he had shown his willingness to compromise -- I compromised where I could, but not where my morality was concerned. 

Maybe he was tired of it.

I always feared that would happen.

But I couldn't jump to conclusions. I couldn't assume anything he was thinking or feeling. I had to wait and hear it from him. Our initial relationship had been utterly sabotaged by miscommunication, wrong assumptions on both of our parts. But I couldn't exactly talk to him now, it was four in the morning and even though I was pretty damn sure he wasn't sleeping either, rarely does anything good happen in the darkness before the dawn. In this case, literally. 

Finally, at quarter after four, I got up. I wandered downstairs, dressed in my yoga pants and a sweatshirt that mostly hid the fact that I wasn't wearing a bra. I had rummaged through the mini bar in my room but it was terribly expensive and I had no idea what to do with any of the alcohols in there. I wasn't a big drinker, I wasn't trying to drink away my problems, I just wanted something that would help me fall back asleep.

The woman who was tending the night desk was not as old as Tom's mother, but considerably older than me, maybe in her fifties. She reminded me a bit of Judy Dench, but with longer hair which she kept up in a bun, and she was as sweet as pie.

"Oh, love, you don't need any old pills to help you," she admonished me when I asked her if she had any suggestions for insomnia. "Let me get you some relaxing tea and we'll add some brandy, that should have you dozing off in no time."

Within twenty minutes or so she had a very large blue ceramic mug in my hands. "So what's keeping you up, dear?" 

"I'm stressed out," I admitted, exhausted and unable to relax. It was a lethal combination with me. "Had a fight with my boyfriend."

"That nice young man who's been visiting you?" she asked. I nodded. "Oh, love, he's so besotted with you he can hardly see straight. Whatever disagreement you had, tomorrow he'll be here on his knees begging you to forgive him."

I wished her words were true, but I doubted it. Rather than argue, though, I just smiled and shrugged.

"I used to make that for my son," she said, gesturing to the mug in my hands. "He had horrible insomnia, did a tour and when he came back he would pace all hours of the night in his room. Usually by this time he'd be desperate to relax and one of those would put him out for a good five hours, at least."

"Where did he tour?"

"He ran off to America when he was in his teens, joined their army, and wound up in Saudi with all that Desert Storm business," she explained. "He's a good lad but he always wanted to do something useful, thought the army was the way to do it. Didn't much care for his own home country's, though it sat around too much not doing anything. Wanted to be active." She shrugged, then leaned forward. "That's the thing with men, darling. They need to feel needed. Whenever any of them get into a fight with their girl it's usually because he feels useless in some fashion. Even the laziest man wants his wife to need him in some way. Although the ones that don't put any effort in shouldn't be expecting we should just love how his sits on his ass all day." She gave a little snort, and I did as well, although it was a snort-laugh. "But your man doesn't seem like that. Active lad. Runner, isn't he? He passes through in his running gear so often."

I nodded. "Two hours a day on average."

"Sometimes those that move about too much are just as bad as those who don't move about at all," she mused. "Too much going on in their heads."

"That sounds like Tom," I murmured.

"Well, he'll calm down and be back before you know it. Don't worry yourself. How's the tea?"

I sloshed the remaining liquid around. "Delicious, actually. Half done."

"Take it up to your room, snuggle back into bed, and you'll be out in a short bit," she assured me. "Whatever you do, don't let your head get caught up in worrying about what if's and maybes. Nothing is ever as bad or as good as it seems, that's one lesson I've learned in life."

I thanked her warmly for her kindness and went back upstairs. It was five a.m., and she was right, I did doze off again pretty quickly, and woke again around 10:30.

But I still didn't want to get up. 

And even worse, I hadn't heard a peep from Tom. Nothing on my phone. No messages of any kind, voice or text. 

Maybe he was waiting for me to call him? I considered this. I even brought up his number, but I couldn't make myself hit the green phone button. I just...couldn't.

And then, while I was holding it in my hand, my phone suddenly started to ring.


	2. Theirs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michelle gets some advice. Tom arrives to discuss the events of the previous night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has become three parts instead of two. You'll find out why. (runs for cover)

It was my mother. Her face popped up under her full name. I had very wisely refrained from naming my parents as Mom and Dad, under the pretext that if someone got my phone, they could use those numbers to manipulate my parents. It was far fetched in the long run but single people can't take too many chances. 

I hesitated to answer. Truth was, I hadn't talked much to my parents since Tom and I had gotten together. Somewhat because Tom got all my time and energy, but mostly because I knew there would be questions. Mom was more focused on Iris at the moment, so her energies were not going into worrying about me with a new boyfriend -- my first boyfriend, if she remembered my history.

Truth was, she'd been more surprised than anything when I told her I was seeing Tom. I had relied more on Mattie to keep her level, reassure her, and admonish her when she started to get paranoid for me. That was my mother -- my tendency to look for the negatives all came from her. I'm not blaming her, just stating facts, habits like that are learned. I learned them well.

Of course, I had not yet found this tendency to be completely faulty. Oftentimes when you expect the worst and don't get it, good things come as pleasant surprises. And we all need more pleasant surprises in our lives.

They knew I was in London, visiting him. I hadn't asked permission, which I know chaffed them. I was thirty-five, soon to be six, but being single had always made me still feel like the baby of the family, even though I was oldest and had been out of the nest the longest. So I waited until three days out and then declared it. //I'm going to London for the next two weeks. See you when I get back.//

This was the first phone call since I'd gotten here. I'd texted to let them know I'd arrived safely, but if I didn't answer, it was going to upset everyone, and I'd feel bad because they would have a point. Still, timing.

Drawing a breath, I hit "answer." "Hi Mom," I said.

"Hello Shelly!" she answered. "What took you so long to answer?"

"I was busy," I said. Busy trying to figure out how to avoid you.

"Are you having a good time? Is Tom showing you the sights?"

"Yeah, we've been...yeah, next week we're supposed to do more touristy things."

"So what have you been doing so far?"

"I saw his show, I've met a bunch of his friends, we've been out to Cornwall, and I met his family last night."

"Oh? You met his family?" Her tone suddenly went tense. 

"Yes, I know, you'll get to meet him as soon as..." and my voice suddenly cracked. Shit. "As soon as he comes back to the states."

"What's wrong, Shelly? You don't sound right. You sound like you're trying too hard."

My mother...I did love her, I honestly did. The biggest battle we had was that she thought she knew me better than I knew myself. And I utterly hated the times when she was proven right. Like right now.

"Well, meeting his mom...it didn't go very well." The fluttering started in my chest. I hadn't let it out. The tension, the fear, the pain, the hurt...I hadn't coped with any of those things. I had just fallen straight into bed and dodged it. Sure, I'd spent a lot of time thinking about it, but now that I was talking about it, the emotions were getting dislodged from where I'd stuffed them and flowing through me, and my throat was getting tight and my eyes were starting to burn and my scalp starting to tingle. 

"She didn't like you? Why wouldn't she like you, you're adorable!"

Oh my mother. She would tear me to pieces but if anyone else even so much as gave me the stink-eye she'd round on them like an angry tiger. 

"No, it wasn't that. She liked me well enough, but...but she wanted us to stay--" my voice was starting to tremble. I swallowed and struggled to steady it.

"Was that bad?"

"No, it wasn't, but...she made a comment about...about ho--how they're not old fash--fashioned and that we could stay in the same room..."

"And you couldn't stay in the same room?"

"MOM!" Admittedly, I wasn't that angry. I was a bit flustered but not angry, but it still felt good to grab onto something to keep the tears back. Fighting with mom and snapping at her were things I could handle. 

"Well, I'm sorry, dear, but you're visiting a man in his own country and I don't have any idea what you're doing--"

"You think I would do that?" I barked.

"No, sweetie, I...I just...I know how it can be, being in your first serious relationship." Her tone had softened. It was a tone I recognized. As much as I bickered with her, as much as she frustrated me, I knew that when I really, really needed it, she would rally for me. She would be calm and help me figure it out. It rarely happened, but there was a precedent.

I needed it right now, more than ever.

"I wouldn't do that, Mom," I said, my voice lower, the tears starting to creep back in. "Why would you...why would you think that?"

"I know, honey, I'm sorry. I have to admit, though...I'm relieved to hear it. I know your brother didn't wait, but I figured, you're grown adults, you have to answer for yourselves now."

"Well, I'm waiting," I said simply. "And it hasn't been easy on Tom."

"I know you probably think I'm being nosy when I ask you this, Shelly, but honestly, it's just so I can help you. What about him? What does he think?"

I knew what she meant. "He's not a virgin, not by a long shot. But he says he's supportive. He's been supportive. Until last night, he's totally respected my beliefs, my values. I've tried to make him see that if he doesn't share them, it's going to make him feel burdened, but so far he hasn't said he feels that way, and hasn't acted like it either. I mean, really, he's been as good as gold, that's why I'm confused."

"Until last night," she pointed out.

I shrugged, but knew she couldn't see me. "I...I guess."

"So he hasn't put any pressure on you?"

"We've talked about it several times. Not him trying to convince me, but me trying to convince him. There was only one time when we both kinda lost it a bit but nothing happened other than kissing."

"All right...so about last night. What exactly happened?"

I told her, to the best of my memory, each detail. 

"Sweetie, do you really think he was trying to pull something on you?" she asked when I finished. 

"No, no, not that, I know he wasn't going to...I mean, really? Seduce me in his mother's home?"

"No, of course not. But you know things start like that. Little things, little barriers."

"That's what I thought! That's why I didn't want to do it! I mean, sleeping in a bed with a man you aren't married to, even if nothing happens...if we do it this one time, then comes another time and since the first time wasn't so bad, why don't we do it again?"

"Yeah, yeah, I see your point," she commiserated. "But...he's British, right?"

"What does that have to do with--?"

"You know how they are! Constantly with the internet jokes about how Brits never like making a fuss. Have you thought he was just trying to be convenient for his mother? Not making things difficult for her?"

Truthfully, in all the stress, I hadn't thought of this. I processed it quickly, found a flaw.

"It wasn't just that, Mom, I mean, he didn't even want her to know that we weren't sleeping together."

She chuckled. "A bit backwards. Usually they're embarrassed to say that they are. That's weird."

"I know." I sighed. "I mean, I guess I could have just rolled with it until we got into the room, made him sleep on the floor...or just slept on the floor myself. Maybe there was a chair in the room or something."

"Well, it comes down to his attitude about the whole thing, Shelly," Mom said, in a tone of I-know-you-don't-want-to-hear-this-but-I'll-say-it-anyway, a tone she had mastered. "I mean, once a person has had something, it's very hard for them to have it taken away. If Tom is used to sexual relationships, it has to be hard for him to be denied that aspect with you."

"We've talked about that so many times, Mom," I groaned. "Ad nauseum." 

I could almost hear her shrug. "Well, sweetie, he is a guy! I mean...they aren't wired like we are! Men don't do subtle. If you've been subtle at all--"

"I've been blunt. He knows. I know he knows. But now he's all pissed off."

"And you?"

"I'm pissed off too!" I half-shouted. By now I'd gotten up and started going through my wake-up routine as I kept talking. Go to the bathroom, brush hair, get on clothes.

"I can hear that. But the bottom line, dear, is that you may have to face an uncomfortable truth."

I knew where she was going. The thought had already crossed my mind but to hear it out loud, I was going to start crying again.

"I don't want to break up with him, Mom," I half-whispered.

"I know you don't." Her voice was warm, compassionate. "Love it hard, I know. We can't predict where it goes. It just happens. But sometimes...sometimes it's just not right and we have to make a better decision than be ruled by instincts."

"But he's...he's been so good. This really shouldn't be the big drama it's turning into---"

"It's letting out the fact that you two have different values," she explained. "I mean, he's British, so he's most likely Church of England. And you're Catholic. If he was high Anglican there would be some common ground but...do you even know what he believes in? Have you ever asked him?"

"You sound like Dad," I whispered.

"Well, I have been married to the man for almost forty years," she pointed out wryly. "And to be honest, all this stuff about you getting into a relationship has been a bit of a shock for us both, we sort of had figured you were just going to stay single."

"I thought so too, honestly," I said, trying to calm myself. "But everything is so different now, and the thought of going back to how it was before...of losing Tom..." I could hardly breathe. My breaths started to come in gasps and hot tears slipped onto my cheeks. 

It would be like losing the sun. Losing joy. Losing a reason to get up in the morning. Life without Tom felt like the world suddenly turning into grey and losing all color. 

"I know it seems that way, darling, and it's hard, I know it's hard," and her warm, sympathetic tone felt like someone was stroking my hair. "But if you continue...I mean, you're probably thinking of marriage in the future, and how can you share yourself completely with a man who doesn't value the same things you do? Who doesn't share your faith, when your faith is so much of who you are? A man should bring you closer to God, not pull you away from him. In any way."

"And does Dad do that?" I asked.

"Well, not all at once, admittedly," she sighed. "It took work and effort. But we had a baseline to start with. We at least believed the same things. And I'm not talking basic, I'm talking deep down in the marrow nitty gritty spirituality, not that fluffy stuff everyone substitutes for substance these days. We had a bedrock. Do you two?"

I didn't know. I thought I did, but honestly I couldn't answer her. 

"Your father," she went on when I was silent for too long, "was kind of a rare bird, you know. For a rocker, especially. Why else do you think I was willing to fight my entire family for him? I mean, sure, he'd smoked pot, drank, whatever, but he got sick of all of that pretty soon because it got in the way of the music. And when it came to sex, quite frankly, he did do it once when he was younger, before me, but decided it was entirely too messy and embarrassing of a process to want to do it causally, and decided he was going to wait for the right woman to come before he did it again. It took longer than he thought, but you know how stubborn your dad can be."

I had to smile. I knew.

"And when we were together, don't think we didn't want to. It's probably one of the reasons we got married in less than a year, but things were different then, you know that. Culture was different. Nowadays, with people being the fickle creatures they're allowed to be, you have to be sure your partner has staying power. And that you're not going to get sick of them. I mean, I know you love him, sweetie, I do. And I know it hurts. And I'm not saying break up with him right now, I know this seems small in the big scheme of things, and not worth this much fuss...but you have to have your eyes open. You either have to make him see the way things really are...or you have to move on. For both your sakes. Trust me, you aren't going to do him any favors by staying with him if your pieces just don't fit."

Another very long pause as I let her words sink in. 

"Okay?" she said in a quiet voice when I didn't speak.

"Okay," I sighed. 

"I'm not telling you what to do, Michelle," she added. "I'm just trying to help you come to a decision. This is your life. Nobody has to live with it except you -- and if you choose, Tom."

I nodded, then said, "Yeah. I know. I love you, Mom. I'm gonna go."

"Give us a call before you fly home, okay? So we know when to expect you back on home soil."

I chuckled, but it was mostly faked. "Okay, Mom. Love you. Love Dad too."

"He loves you too, sweetie. Bye."

I pulled the phone away from my ear. Half expected to see a text there. Instead I only saw the digits of the time.

It was past noon. 

Still no message from Tom.

\------------------------------------

After talking to my mother, my stomach unknotted a bit. It gave me a bit of comfort, which was more than I'd had before she called, knowing that she understood. Her suggestion didn't sit well, but I'd already been having that bug flying around the back of my brain.

I didn't want to break up with Tom. But...it was better to do it now, if it had to be done. The cracks were appearing. And this wasn't something simple, something that amounted to one of us having to be more considerate or refrain from making a particular comment in the future.

This was about values, about morals, about the stuff of my make-up. If he was wearing down in his resolve and this was its way of showing, it was better I knew now. If he just lacked the integrity of character, as much as he might try to fake it, it wouldn't work. If we were going to have a future, be married, if I was going to entrust my well being to him, mental, physical, spiritual, didn't he have to completely understand what that meant?

And obviously he didn't.

And the thought of being entrusted with the same things from him...what if I failed to make him happy because we simply didn't exist in the same reality? If our perceptions were off by a few hairs, it would cause a disharmony that could poison us for years to come.

Not every relationship, even one as sweet as ours, was destined to work. It was a hard truth I had to accept, even as it felt like accepting it was a knife in my insides, twisting, relentless.

Should I call him? I asked myself. I mean, it wasn't out of the question. I had the right to call him, to find out what was going on. I couldn't just play passive, I had to take an active part!

My fingers hovered over the keypad. I had not a single clue what to say. 

By twelve-thirty I couldn't stand any more. I needed to get out, to walk, and definitely to eat. I figured that Tom would text or call before coming over. If he didn't, and decided to surprise attack me, well, he could choke on that by finding an empty hotel room.

So I left. I headed down the corner, away from the parking garage. I knew there was stuff around the corner. A little cafe bakery that made pasties sat in the middle of the block. It was a bit cheap and plastic but the pasties looked delicious and they served the British version of Mountain Dew so I went with it. I ordered one pasty, devoured it, and then still felt hungry so I went for another, this time beef instead of chicken. 

I went slower on the second one, nursed my drink, gazed out the window. My phone sat on the table, taunting me with it silence. I was going to call my brother. No, I was going to call the airline and see if I could move my flight date up to tomorrow. I felt horribly homesick all of a sudden. And worse, I felt like a grand fool.

Why had I ever thought that something like this would work for me? It wasn't in my cards. I'd known that for some years, when all my friends found their significant others and went on their merries, and yet I stayed alone. I rarely even made it to the invite list for their weddings. 

Then, finally, at about 1:30, a text appeared, from Tom.

***May I come by?***

I took a good five minutes to type in three letters.

***Yes***;

I picked up my soda and headed back to the hotel. My pace was quicker than I liked, but when I reached the hotel, I saw Tom already approaching.

He must have left and then texted me. 

We paused at the entrance, stared at each other. I felt a fresh rush of despair when neither one of us moved to touch the other. Every single time we'd greeted each other, there had been a hug and kiss involved, even if it had only been an hour or less that separated us. My eyelids felt heavy and I looked down. 

"Shall we go to your room?" he asked softly.

I just nodded, heading into the lobby. He moved to grab the door but I beat him to it, rushing through toward the elevator bank.

We rode up in silence. We walked down the hallway in silence. I opened my room with my hotel key card in silence. Even when the door clicked shut behind him, we both just stared at each other...in silence. 

Someone had to speak first. I opened my mouth, not knowing what words were going to come out. But instead he beat me to it.

"I'm sorry if I took too long to contact you," he said, his voice low, controlled. "I hardly slept all night, finally fell asleep at around five, and woke up extremely late. I went for a run, trying to clear my head. But I also noticed that you haven't tried to contact me."

"I was about to text you when I got your text," I replied, my voice matching his tone.

He nodded, shrugged. "Fair enough. We need to talk about what happened."

The words "I'm sorry" inadvertently came to my lips. I realized, in that moment, I had made a complete mess of meeting his family. I would never be able to face his mother again. I had embarrassed him and myself. "Please apologize to your mother for me, when you see her," I heard myself say. "I hope she wasn't too upset."

He shook his head. "She wasn't upset at all."

"But you are."

He sighed. "I'm...hurt, Michelle."

I frowned. "Why are you hurt?"

"Because you don't trust me," he said. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and he was standing with his legs spread wide. He was in jeans and that grey shirt that was white on the back -- a shirt I personally couldn't stand but it was his body, not mine. It just intensified, in a ridiculous way, how I was already feeling. 

My legs started to shake. Stress affects the body in different ways. Homeostasis, the process by which the body maintains internal temperature, is often thrown off by stress. Sweat when it's hot, shiver when it's cold -- the body misinterprets in times of overwhelming stress, that's why people sweat under pressure. In my case, my body's reaction was to shiver. So hard sometimes that my teeth would chatter. So in order to cover it, I grabbed a seat on the edge of the bed. 

"I have done everything correctly," he said, his voice still so infuriatingly calm. "When you expressed your beliefs to me, I honored them. I even feel as if I've embraced them. I've measured myself against your levels of integrity, barred my soul to you, even, in the process. And at the first test, you instantly assumed the worst of me."

I scowled. "The worst of you?"

"Staying in the same room one night was not going to destroy your virtue," he said, a bit more force in his voice. He hadn't moved, his hands still jammed into his pockets. I'd never seen him talk so long without his hands, I wondered if something broke. "I wouldn't have...I wouldn't have done anything to compromise you in the slightest way. I would even have slept on the floor if that was what it took to reassure you. I had no problem with that."

I held up my hand. "Tom, wait. I have to ask you something. Were you wanting us to stay in the same room so as not to make a fuss in front of your mother? I mean, I know that's a common British attitude."

He did ruffle a bit at that. "Well...partly, yes."

"So you expected me to compromise on the spot in order to keep from making a fuss," I reiterated. 

"I expected you to //trust me,//" Tom emphasized, leaning forward. "I expected you to follow my lead."

I blinked. "I'm sorry, but that's hard to do when it appears that your lead is taking me somewhere I don't want to go." Somehow the shaking stopped and I stood up. "And on top of that, Tom, it isn't YOU that I don't trust -- it's me!"

He stared at me for a long second. "Nothing would have happened."

"Of course not, but that doesn't mean...it's about wearing down the barriers. You do one thing, you get used to it. So you think the next thing isn't so much. We spend one night in a room together, we think it wasn't such a big deal. So when a situation arises again, we do it again. And again. Until that doesn't seem like such a big deal anymore, and the next barrier gets worn down."

He snorted. "You think you've been so careful of the barriers? Let me remind you that your hands were all over me yesterday afternoon and I //refrained// from touching you at all."

"Then maybe I need to step back," I said, taking a literal step back for emphasis. "Maybe it's my fault and I've misled you. You're right, I've been careless. I've touched you too much and I've teased you and I've been...I've been wrong." It was true. Being around Tom made physical control so difficult. 

He sighed, and finally one hand came out to rub at his eyes, which shut in exasperation. "That isn't what I'm saying, Michelle."

"No, you're right!" I cried, latching onto and running with it. "So maybe it's a good idea for us to step back--"

"No," he said, whipping his hand away from his face and swinging it out in my direction. "That is the exact opposite -- Michelle, I need you to trust me! You have to be able to put yourself in my hands--" The other one came out and they came together, palms up, as if we were cupping water in them, but the fingers were still widely spread. "And trust that I will do the right thing!"

"How can I do that when I have no idea what your idea of the right thing is!" I blurted.

We both stared at each other, both of us stunned by what I'd just said. 

"I cannot believe you just said that," he whispered. "Don't you know me at all?"

"Tom," I started, gathering the remaining bits of my courage, "I think maybe...maybe this isn't working."

He frowned, not understanding. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying...maybe deep down, we're too different," I choked, but I'd started and I was going to finish. "I mean, different in some fundamental ways that...that just make...us...  
not...not able to...to work."

I had started to yank on the folds of my jeans, plucking hard at the seams, at the pockets, at the belt loops. If I'd been wearing a skirt I'd have destroyed the hem by now. 

He continued to look at me, his blue eyes searing me with their intensity.

"I mean...we just...we just don't believe in...in the same things. We just don't. And...and I can't seem...can't seem to...to...uh...I don't know what I'm saying...."

"I hope not," he said, his voice very small.

I shook my head, trying to clear it. Tears burned my eyes, my throat, my lungs. I had precious minutes left before I lost my head completely, but I couldn't get my thoughts to come together. My tongue went numb and lay useless against my teeth, and then I was shaking with a sob and covering my mouth, breathing in deep, heavy gasps trying to stifle it, but it was too late.

I stumbled back, my legs hitting one of the room's upholstered chairs. 

"Michelle," his voice called to me, and he started to move toward me. He'd witnessed me trying not to cry, but never a full on attack like this, and I could see by his expression, blurry as it was through my tears, that seeing me like this was causing him anguish. "Michelle, this isn't worth breaking up over," he admonished me. "We can figure this out, but we have to listen. We have to try---"

I shook my head, taking several deep, cleansing breaths, willing the sobs away. Then, I found the words. They were my mother's, but I took them up, finding their truth.

"It's better to do it now," I said, "before we really hurt each other." My voice started to steady, as it forced its way out of my mouth. My hand moved from my mouth to my chest, pressing hard against my heart as if to give it extra strength. "I don't want to hurt you any more, Tom. I don't want...I don't want us to sink years into this and look back and see that this was the moment...the moment we both knew it wasn't going to work out...and we didn't do it, because we were scared, but wish we had. If I can't...I can't trust you...I can't seem to make myself trust you...because I know you...you don't see things...like I do..." I stood up as his face started to crumble, his head shaking. "Please, Tom. I love you. I don't want to hurt you. I'd rather let you go now and have us...have us both move on while there's...while there's time."

"All this over a stupid room?" he murmured.

"We both know," I sighed, but I was shivering so hard now it was an effort to speak, "it's a lot more than that. You can't take up someone else's beliefs and make them their own just to please them, Tom. It doesn't work like that, as we are proving right this very minute. I won't compromise your will, your freedom. You need someone who is more...in sync with you. And it...it isn't me."

Oh God it hurt...I never thought anything could hurt like this. I was killing myself, bleeding myself to death and it felt like fire, like being flayed alive. 

He just stared at me for the longest moment, jaw hanging open...and then he blinked, tears peeking out around his lids, turned around, and left.

And I burst.


	3. Ours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I say anything it will give it away.

I stood outside, back by the barn. It was a gorgeous June day, not too hot. The thunder storms that had descended upon my arrival had finally cleared, taking the humidity with them. The winds were blowing over the ripening wheat, making it flutter like golden waves. A few butterflies hazily drifted about, going where the wind took them. Behind me I could hear the beagles howling at the birds that were carried by the air currents into their yard. 

It felt peaceful. If I let myself breathe it in, I could let myself feel peace here. At least for a tiny bit.

I'd been here three days. 

My grandparents had been very understanding. Old age had mellowed them somewhat; as long as you were on time for meals, did your own laundry, and didn't play your music too loud, you could pretty much stay as long as you wanted.

I had a few more days. I was schedule to return to work next Monday, and it was Wednesday. And if I let myself relax, and follow the simple rhythm around me, I could stop thinking about how I had utterly ruined everything.

I don't know how long I had sobbed after Tom walked out. I'd never cried like that in my life. Ever. But when the first wave passed, I was exhausted and thirsty. 

I drank the rest of my soda, then went for the water. I had to have drunk three glasses when my phone went off.

It was my brother's familiar ring. I found myself running for it. "Hello?"

"Shelly, are you okay?" came his worried voice.

"No," I choked. "I just broke up with Tom."

"Oh, geeze," he breathed.

"How did...how did you know...?"

"Mom's staying with us, when she got off the phone with you she came right to me and told me everything. Told me to call my sister, she's in a spot and probably needs you. Oh Shelly, why did you break up with him? What happened? I mean, he made you so happy!"

I felt a new wave of sobs pressing on me. It was impossible to stop them. I choked down a few but then Mattie was soothing me and I cried for a few minutes, trying to let off enough of the pressure so I could function. I was finally able to pull it together again to tell him what happened. 

Mattie listened. He took in everything, only asking questions to clarify. And then when I was done, he asked the question I'd be dreading.

"Do you think you've done the right thing, Shelly?"

"I d...don't know...I think...I think I did...but I feel like...like..."

Mattie sighed. "No, it's too soon. Don't answer that yet, Michelle. You need to finish venting."

I hiccupped. "I'm so...alone here, Mattie. I want to...to come home..."

"Don't you have a week?"

"To do what?" I snapped through my tears. "I'm only...only here...and now we're...I want to come home!"

"You need to take a breath and let yourself cry it out, and then rationally decide what to do," Mattie said in a reasonable tone. It drove me nuts how he sounded like my mother. "It sounds to me like Tom was just a bit shocked by your decision. I'm sure he's going to come back. I would."

"No," I shook my head. "I don't want...I don't want to be here...when he does."

"Michelle--"

In a fit of anger, I hung up the phone. I'd never hung up on Mattie, ever in my history of existence. And I threw myself face down on the bed and let the second wave wash over me.

That second one wore me out. I fell into an exhausted doze. When I woke up the sun was still coming in the window but at a tilted angle, telling me it was getting closer to evening. And my stomach was protesting.

I hated the mere fact that I could even think about food at a time like this. I had no desire to leave, so I picked up the hotel room service menu and found nothing appetizing. Finally I decided on a grilled cheese/tomato soup combination, figuring it was traditional comfort food and I was badly in need of comforting.

I picked up my cellular phone from where I'd slammed it face down on the table. It had died. Grumbling, I plugged it into the wall but it didn't come back on -- it wouldn't until I pressed the power button. I turned my back on it and went to take a very long, very hot shower to try and get rid of the I-had-a-nap-in-the-afternoon-and-made-it-worse feeling that was just the icing on the shit-cake my life had become. 

A hot shower, a decent meal, and stupid mindless television to distract me. It wasn't much, and only served to make me more homesick than before. 

I did feel calmer, however, and was able to work through a plan in my mind. First I called the airline and asked about transfer fees. They were very nice, walking me through the process -- for a cool six hundred, I could go back to the U.S. late tomorrow afternoon. My flight would land in New York, but from there it would take a few days before they could get me from New York to L.A., because of flight availability -- everything was booked.

Upon consideration, I didn't want to go home. Matthew, my mother, even Tom would know exactly where to find me and I didn't want any of them making me feel worse. As much as I craved a familiar environment, I wanted everyone to leave me alone.

I didn't want to go back to L.A. And an idea struck me. 

Cleveland.

My mother's parents lived in their huge farmhouse outside of the main urban area. The land around over the years had been sold off, but was still farmed. It was a perfect place to hide.

Turned out it was only an extra hundred dollars more to send me to Cleveland instead of L.A. And I was able to switch planes within a few hours of landing in New York. I took it.

Truthfully, for as much as my parents' marriage had driven a wedge between my mother and her family, my grandfather had always been kind to me. It had been a few years since I'd gone to visit. I knew one of my cousins, Joey, lived at the farm with them to help out and take care of them now that they were older. 

At this point, the money didn't bother me. It didn't bother me at all that I would have to use my credit card to bail myself out of this jam, as I usually kept my balances low. However, it bothered me that I'd have to pay for this hotel room for a week where I wasn't going to use it. 

I called down to the front desk and managed to negotiate only paying for one full day after I left, which turned out to consume my entire budget -- I'd forgotten than Tom was going to pay whatever was over my budget, but now that I was leaving early it balanced out. 

I turned on my cellular phone. The voicemail message icon was lit, my text messages read "23" and the missed calls were at "45." I scrolled the missed calls first, my parents, Matthew, and...Tom.

No. I knew what it was going to be. I knew what any and all of the voicemails were going to be. Either Tom venting his anger, which he had a right to, or pleas for me to answer the phone and talk to him.

No talking.

I had to be strong. It wasn't an easy choice but I couldn't let myself get sucked back in. I couldn't blind myself with feelings when I had to face facts. Sure, being with Tom felt good. Felt great. But the broken line of conversations we'd had trailed through those good times and showed me the path, the downhill slide. As much as I had struggled, I had weakened, becoming more liberal with my physical affection. I had been inconsistent, I had misled him. And now he had expectations that I couldn't fulfill. 

And on top of all of that...the very bottom line...he just didn't get it. He just didn't share my morality. If it was over something trivial, it would have been fine. But this was tantamount to something like him telling me he never wanted children. A dealbreaker. 

I dialed my grandparents' number and got my cousin, thankfully. I explained to him that I was going to be in town for about a week and needed a place to crash, did they have room? Sure, they always had room, it was a big house with lots of spare bedrooms. I offered to pay for the gas for him to pick me up at the airport, but he shrugged me off. 

"No problem, Shelly," Joey assured me in his Kentucky drawl, as that was where he'd grown up, "just let me know when to come get you. It's been pretty quiet around here this season, I could use the company. Grams and Gramps sort of start melting when the humidity starts in, so I haven't had to chase them around too much."

I had to chuckle. It was the first smile I'd cracked all day. 

I text messaged my mother that I was fine, and I would be in Cleveland at her parents' house. I would come back at the normal time. I'd be a thousand bucks in the hole when this mess was over, but I didn't care. 

I just wanted to leave this place as fast as I could.

I shut off my phone, and I put the hotel phone on "Do Not Disturb." I waited until first light, around 5 a.m., and checked out of the hotel. It being Sunday, I had to get to a Catholic church for Mass, but at that early of an hour the Masses were short and it didn't take long. I spent most of the time praying for guidance, for some kind of assurance I was doing the right thing. But instead most of what I got was Tom's face in my head, his voice in my ear, the phantom feeling of his hands in mine, his arm around my shoulders, his kiss on my cheek.

After, I took a cab to Heathrow, figuring I'd spend the day there until my flight. I wanted to be nowhere Tom could find me. 

It went well. I had to fly coach, but I was on the aisle, thank God, so the flight to New York was tolerable. I was able to walk around, stretch, look out the window at some of the sights, even eat some New York pizza before I was back on the plane again headed to Cleveland. 

I don't know if every family has one, but there is usually at least one cousin you have that you sort of wish wasn't your cousin -- because you wish you could date him (or her). Joey was mine. He was tall, lean and lanky, dark hair that had gone salt-and-pepper, and for some mysterious reason, was single. Nobody in the family could figure it out. Dad suspected he might be gay but I reasoned that in today's day and age that was not an impediment to being in a relationship. We didn't talk much but we were friendly, and he even gave me a hug upon picking me up.

"So what does bring you all the way out here?" he asked as we hit the interstate to head out to the farm. 

I let it out, slowly. To my surprise, it was easy to talk to Joey -- everything came out, including my struggle to maintain my plan. I knew Tom would stop me the second he found out so I had kept my phone off the entire day. I was jet lagged and exhaustion had the same truth-serum affects as alcohol. 

"I don't know, maybe you think I'm old fashioned too."

He gave a little chuckle. "You and I haven't gotten to know each other much, Michelle, but the truth is, I know exactly how you feel."

"You do?"

He nodded, still smiling. "I know there are at least four different rumors about me in the family, the least offensive is that I'm dead below the waist. But I'm just like you. Thing is, I never found anybody to inspire me to take a chance. I tried dating a bit when I was in college, but all the girls wanted was either for me to pay for everything, or to get into my pants."

I had to process this. "That's usually a girl's problem."

He gave me an are-you-shitting-me look. "Let's not be sexist, now. I think it's because of my accent. They thought I was some kind of naive hayseed, a dupe, or worse, a target. Once it got out that I hadn't gone all the way with a girl I had all manner of girls at my door just about every weekend, wanting to go out. All my male friends thought I was crazy. Graduating from college was about the best thing that ever happened to me. Get away from all of that. And now, well, being single hasn't turned out so bad. I can look after Gram and Gramps. Nobody else can take care of them, they all got their own lives and families."

"It probably didn't hurt that they saw you as a tall, cool, drink of water," I muttered.

His grin widened a bit. "Yeah, I think women do find me attractive. God knows why," he muttered, his grin fading as he turned onto the gravel drive. As he slowed to a stop he turned toward me. "Look, this kind of advice usually comes from a dad, but I ain't had no kids so I guess I get to be the one to give it to you. Our culture is too focused on sex. Everything else gets forgotten, except by those of us with enough brains to see the strings. Truth is, they're the ones that are fucked up, not you. You can't settle. And whatever else happens, God will put you where He wants you, if you trust Him to. Never apologize for refusing the bong hit, Shelly. You have no idea where that shit's been, even if everyone else is stupid and getting high out of their minds."

I had new respect for my cousin that day. I hoped after this was over we'd keep in touch.

Truth was, he took excellent care of my grandparents. I'm not sure what he got out of it. When he was in college he'd worked in rehabilitation programs, so maybe it was connected with that. He would be an excellent orderly at a retirement home -- all the elderly ladies would coo over him. I even said as much to him the first night over dinner, made by Gram. She tottered a bit around the kitchen but she made a chicken pot pie that made Marie Calendar's look like old dried up crackers.

Joey kept the house up to date, and dealt with all the bills. He showed Gram and Gramps how to work whatever new appliances he got, especially the deep fryer. Gram loved to deep fry things. I had a brief memory of her working over a pot on the stove, the grease spraying and being pushed back so I wouldn't get splattered. But now the deep fryer sat compact in the corner of the counter, ready to go whenever she got the hankering to make fried chicken or fish.

Fish...fish and chips. That second night, when she'd made them, I had barely been able to touch them, even though they were delicious.

I had deliberately blocked everything. I sent a message to my mother, telling her where I was, telling her I would only answer texts and absolutely no voice mails. I had deleted them on my first night, not daring to let myself hear a single word of them but pressing the key for deletion the second I heard the empty air before a person started to speak. I had not looked at Tom's texts, nor my brother's. My father had messaged me once, which worried me, as he never texted for any reason, and I had replied for him to "ask mom." 

I knew I had messed up. Even if it was right to break up, running away hadn't been the right thing to do. It wasn't fair to Tom, it wasn't fair to anyone. But he had stormed out, too angry, too overwhelmed to deal with me. Distance at the moment had seemed like a good idea.

I just went too far. I usually went too far.

Shame was a great motivator to stay hidden. As long as I was here, I didn't have to deal with it. When I went back to L.A., I had a story ready -- my hospital friends, and Katherine and Monica, they would hear that Tom and I had had a falling out and decided it best not to continue our relationship, it was too difficult to maintain the long distance. I know they'd raise a fuss but I would be calm about it. My brother and his wife would get the fuller story, but I knew if I put my foot down, Mattie wouldn't keep pestering me with it. Besides, he had a new son to worry about, which took precedence over his sister's break-up.

I strolled along the edge of the property. Gram and Gramps had kept the barn, the shed, and a good spread of farm, and the fields were still being used to grow things rather than being sold off to create a suburb. I wore high boots, which Joey had taken me into town to buy, as the high grass sometimes carried with it various critters that, while not strictly dangerous, could leave itchy bites. My jeans were tucked into the knee-high brown suede leather, heels low to keep my arches from getting too tired. I didn't wander through the taller grasses much but it helped knowing I could go where I pleased and be protected.

So far, I'd spent a lot of time outside. Joey had a few of those canvas chairs stored away for people to sit outside, and I grabbed one and took it out toward the fields with me, reading old books from my grandparents' shelves. The only book I had brought with me was "The Night Manager," which I was reading to be ready for Tom's series to premiere in August. Tom had loved the book and wanted my opinion on it before I saw his performance. There had been parts that had disturbed me, particularly the fact that his character seemed to fall in love with and/or shag every woman in his path. Now I couldn't even pull the thing out of my suitcase. I was surprised I had even bothered to take it with me and not just left it in the hotel room. Maybe I should have thrown it in the trash along with all the messages the desk clerk had handed me when I checked out, most of which I knew were from Tom.

Instead, I read old obscure books that Gramps claimed had been my mother's, but they'd been too heavy to pack up and move so he had just assumed them into his library. Which had never been much to being with, Gramps not being a big reader. He liked his sports, and since Joey had gotten Direct TV installed, he spent nearly the whole day in front of the telly, watching everything his whims desired. Joey sometimes joined him. Grams rearranged her recipe cards on the desk behind the living room and muttered rude comments, but she smiled when Gramps cheered for a point scored. 

It was a beautifully clear and breezy day, the wind pushing away all clouds. The sun was just starting its descent toward the western horizon. I had just finished my last round for the day, having gotten tired of reading and instead just pacing restlessly, when I turned toward the drive.

And saw Tom walking toward me.

The car parked in the drive wasn't his, obviously a rental. He had only gotten part of the way when I spotted him, and I couldn't read his face...but if he'd come all this way, it couldn't be because he hated me, could it?

I froze. All the panic I'd been ignoring for the last three or four days bubbled to the surface, and I instantly felt like I was going to burst into tears. 

The first words that fell out of my mouth? "What are you doing here?"

He gave me a deadpan look. His face was strange -- brow wrinkled but not angry, eyes narrowed but not suspicious, mouth set in a line. Maybe it was the wind. It was swishing around us, pushing my hair into my face, his curls weaving like the wheat on the crown of his head. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his jeans -- a sign of tension, apprehension, that I'd come to recognize. He was in his black cardigan with a simple white T-shirt underneath, possibly his most comfortable outfit, as he had had to travel quite a bit to get here. There was reproach in his face, but also something else. Longing.

"I want to ask you the same thing. Why did you run away?"

His voice was a touch of a shock. Not having allowed myself to hear it since he left my hotel room, I'd forgotten the power it had over me. Or rather tried to deny it. I took a half-step back. "I didn't run away. I left."

"You ran away," he reiterated, his voice lower now, smoky. 

"And what do you call what you did?" I countered. 

"I retreated because you'd suddenly become impossible and I didn't want to yell. I tried to contact you after I calmed down but you wouldn't answer anything. You even threw away the messages I left for you." He got closer, and I was backed against the wheat field, if I went any further back I'd be among the tall grasses and I wasn't quite ready to meet whatever crawlies were hanging out there that day. He lowered his head, his neck straining a bit to the side, the vein showing clearly, throbbing slightly. It was as if he was trying to see around me, but his eyes didn't leave me. They were like the storm clouds had been, a deep blue gray. "Do you have any idea how frantic I was when I realized you'd left your hotel? Did you think for a moment what it would do it me?"

Then it seemed as if he grabbed himself, pulling himself back. "I'm sorry," he said, but his voice was still tense. "I'm very angry, but I'm also...there are other things I wanted to say. Not like this."

My reply was to shrug. "What is there to say, Tom? I did what I did. It's done."

"It's far from done," he countered, and took another step. I was on the very edge now, the prickly tips of the wheat dancing at my thighs. His hands strained from where they sat in his pockets, like he wanted to take them out but didn't dare. 

And then, inexplicably, his face softened. "Michelle, please," he started, but it was too much. I side-stepped, trying to get away.

"No, Tom," I said, dodging. "No. I stand by what I said." But I heard my voice starting to crumble and crack. How I wished it wasn't so! 

He grit his teeth and pursued, hands still firmly in pockets. "But you're wrong, Michelle! You're wrong. I do understand you--"

"If you did you would have never expected--" I shot back, and just then my eyes caught on a familiar figure at the edge of the drive, and my voice died in my throat.

Joey.

I half-expected him to be carrying a shotgun, the way he was watching us so intently. I raised my hand, worrying he would come over and yet almost wishing he would. I waved, and Tom saw what I was doing and spun around, giving me a chance to get a few more steps between us. 

"Who is that?" Tom demanded, something coloring his voice I couldn't quite identify.

"My cousin," I bit out, waving again, this time warding him off.

Tom turned back to me, brows lifted. "Your cousin?" His voice was doubtful.

I stared at him a moment, and then my jaw dropped. "What, who else do you think he'd be?"

"A neighbor? Don't your grandparents have a live-in caretaker?"

"Yes, my cousin!" I snapped, folding my arms. 

"Doesn't look like you--"

"No, of course not, he's very handsome," I muttered, and Tom spun back.

"What does that mean?" he demanded.

"Of course we don't look alike, obviously he got good looks from somewhere," I grumbled.

Tom shook his head. "Michelle, quit saying he's attractive--"

"Why? He is."

Tom let out a groan, his hands finally leaving his pockets to tear through his hair. He looked back at Joey again and then turned to me. "Why does he keep staring at us?"

"To make sure I'm okay, I'm sure," I replied. "You're a stranger, Tom, and you showed up unannounced at his house."

"At your grandparents' house," Tom corrected, "after my girlfriend decided to just up and leave me!"

"Whatever!" I barked, with some force. Tom seemed to pull himself back, his hands going to his hips, his lips pursed and his chest heaving and he struggled to put himself back together.

"Okay, look," he said, his voice calmer, but not by much, "the real reason I came out here was to apologize."

My scowl deepened. "You sure didn't sound like it. How did you even find me, anyway?"

He lifted his head to pin me with those eyes. "Your brother."

I felt my teeth press together. //Traitor,// I thought. What, had I expected my mother to keep my location from him? Certainly not, we had a policy in the family not to withhold information from each other when it was directly asked for. But that Mattie would help Tom?

Mattie, who knew me better than anyone else in the world?

Dammit.

Tom went on explaining. "I went back to your room Sunday morning but there wasn't any answer, and I tried to call the room but it was 'do not disturb.' So I went to the desk and they told me that you had checked out not fifteen minutes before." He swept his hand to the side in an angry gesture, his teeth grinding against each other as his lips peeled back in his passion. "I had no fucking idea what to do. First I called the airline --and that was a slice of fresh hell, the only reason they even talked to me was because I had bought your ticket and had all your reservation numbers. They told me you were going to Cleveland -- fucking Cleveland! Where, I had no clue. I called information for your brother's school in Los Angeles, I thought if anybody would know where you went it might be him. It was Sunday so there wasn't anyone, I had to wait until Monday, Michelle! I had to wait until Monday morning in America to call your brother and ask him if he'd even heard from you, knew where you were going! Do you know what went through my head? Not knowing what you were on about?"

His voice had gone up, and he struggled to pull himself back again.

I looked down at the tips of my boots, face flushing with shame. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

"You're sorry," he echoed, his voice bitter.

"I don't know what else to say!" I responded. "I...I had to leave. I just couldn't take it. I couldn't stand being in your city anymore and not being with you--"

"And who made that decision?" he snapped.

"So I left!" I practically shrieked. "And don't you dare try and guilt me about what happened, you should have known better, Tom!"

"I know that I should have already explained to my mother about us," Tom said, stepping closer, his rigid shoulders straining to relax, unsuccessfully. Then, abruptly, he threw up his hands and gave out a strangled kind of laugh, then turned and walked in a brief, tight circle.

"This isn't what I came here for," he said, as much to himself, it sounded, as to me. "I...I came here to apologize, and all I can think about is how pissed I am..."

"Well you'd better pick one," I said, waving Joey back again, who had started to come forward at Tom's agitated moves. I wasn't afraid of Tom. I couldn't bring myself to fear him. Not his rage, not his frantic gestures -- he'd never hurt me, of that I was utterly confident. So instead I tried to switch the streams for him. "Why didn't you tell your mother about us? I thought you two were close."

"I had to ask myself the same question," he sighed, finally rounding back to where he'd started, seemed to have at least shaken off the immediate exasperation. "I mean, I didn't think it would come up so soon. I didn't think she'd invite us to stay that night, and when she did...I was just stuck. And you were going to tell her, I know you were, and I just...I was mad at myself for not doing it sooner, and I panicked. And I had to think about why."

I maintained my crossed arms, listening but still holding myself away. Maybe he would figure it out, as he talked himself through it.

"And yes, maybe I was embarrassed," he admitted, gesturing to himself with both hands, "but not for the reasons you think. I know my mother was just trying to make you feel at ease, but yes, she would have thought it strange that you felt the need to declare something that personal when you'd just met -- I know my mother, and it would have made her uncomfortable hearing such a thing from someone she's just met. I thought you could trust me enough to not put you in a situation that would violate your trust, even if it seemed that way; I hoped you'd just wait until we were alone and handle it privately, and I was irritated by that, true. I was going to sleep on the damn floor, Michelle. I just didn't want people to know about something I felt was our business. And maybe yes, maybe I was afraid of being judged, of being questioned, because it's still new to me, because it's so different, and I'm not...I'm not as used to it as you are. I'm still being tested, I'm not as firm in this as you are, yet."

His voice had softened over the course of his explanation. So much so that I felt my resolve, already unsure, start to dissolve. A tear started to slip from my eye and I hastily swiped it with my thumb.

One last effort needed to be made. "You were angry at me in the hallway, Tom. Angry at me for reasons I didn't even know. Why couldn't you have told me this then?"

He stepped closer, his hands still in front of him, fingertips touching each other in a nearly supplicant gesture, wanting to reach out to me but not daring, and I didn't step away. 

"I know. That's why I'm here, chasing you across an ocean. I'm sorry for all of that, Michelle. I'm sorry for being unsure, I'm sorry for not being clear to you, I'm sorry for being embarrassed. And most of all, I'm sorry I haven't told you so many things, things that might have averted all of this." Now he'd reached me, and so slowly, so hesitantly, his fingers had found my elbows and were creeping up my upper arms to bring me closer to him. 

I shook my head, my last defense, because now that he was touching me I found I couldn't pull back anymore. "I wish I could say I was sorry, Tom. I am sorry that I ran away, that I scared you, that you had to chase me all the way out here. I'm sorry that I embarrassed us both in front of your mother, I don't know how I'll ever face her again...I'm sorry I wasn't patient enough to wait for you to say this when we were both still in London and I put you to all this trouble...because...because..."

I was going to start crying again. I couldn't make myself say it, but the words were clear in front of my brain. Did it change anything? He still was Tom, I still was me, and we still didn't work. 

"Because you're afraid it doesn't many any difference," he said for me, with such profound sadness that I had to shut my eyes, shaking my head again. 

"I love you, Tom," I said, eyes still shut. "But I can't...I can't hold onto you like this, it's unfair to you. I can't expect things from you that are against who you are--"

"But they aren't!" he insisted, his hands around my arms now, gripping lightly. "Michelle...please, please look at me."

It took a moment to gather myself, but finally I raised my eyes to his. 

"I put on a bit of a show, I admit," he said, "it's part of the job. I maintain an image, and not that it's fake, it's just a side of me that...that people enjoy. But it's not //all// who I am. And it's certainly not all who I //want// to be. The things I've learned about you have made me call into question a lot of things about myself. And you've done more than simply help me...you've inspired me."

"Inspired?"

"I haven't made a big secret of this, but I've failed to truly express to you everything, because I was afraid of it. A lot things I've taken for granted have been called into question. First, about sex between two people in love, but...but other things, too. Deeper things, or things just as important, if not moreso. Things I want to explore, with you."

"You can't change your beliefs to accommodate another person, Tom," I warned.

"I know. That's why I've hesitated to say anything, because I was afraid that that was what it was. And I was angry when I found out you'd left, but when I realized what had happened, I had to ask myself what was going to happen to me. What was I going to do without you? Was I going to go back to my previous way of life? And I didn't want to."

There were a thousand things I could think of to counter this statement. Instead I just waited for him to finish. He'd gone through a lot of trouble, I owed him that much.

"Michelle," he said, squeezing my arms and pulling me in slightly, "don't you understand? You're the one. I have never been as sure of another person as I'm sure of you. But it isn't because of all the things you're thinking."

"If you say I make you a better person," I heard myself saying, "I swear I'm going to step on your foot."

He cracked the tiniest bit of a smile. "No, you don't. Nobody makes one's self a better person. But you inspire me...you are an example to me that I want to follow...whether you come back to me now, or tell me to leave. It doesn't matter. You've shown me something better and I want that. But I want it //with you// even more. So I want to give us one more chance. One offer. If you say no, I won't force you. But you've started something for me and it will be much harder without you. Forgive me for wanting an easier path, but either way, it's the path I want." His hands cupped my cheeks, tenderly. His voice lowered to just above a whisper. "I want to marry you, I want to have children with you, I want my life to be fused to yours for the rest of it, period. And as much as you're sure I'm conforming, please understand...I've asked myself that, too. I can't lie to myself anymore than you can. It's the reason I was able to come here. I'm accepting a gift much greater than either of us, and I need your help to know what to do with it."

Tears had flooded my eyes. Slowly, my hands dropped from where they'd been clutching my arms. Those feelings of doubt from before pushed through. Doubt that leaving him was the right thing. Doubt about breaking up with him. My heart had begged me not to, but my will, used to being obeyed, had overrun it. Now, if I changed, if I took it back, it could be the biggest mistake of my life. 

And if I was right, it was everything I had ever hoped for.

I slid closer to him, and his arms went around me, his fingers splaying across my back, pressing down, gripping me tightly. My face found the crook of his neck, his forehead rested on my shoulder and we held each other there. The smell of him invaded me like it always did, more a sensation than a scent, overtaking my brain and making everything inside of me hum in delight. My hands rested lightly on his chest, to keep myself from getting too close, and I thought...

"Tom," I said, my voice muffled, "we...we have to be more careful."

"I know," he whispered, his breath tickling my skin.

"If I don't touch you...as much...or let you touch me...you'll understand why, won't you?"

"Yes."

"I feel I've...I've misled you--"

"You haven't," he said quickly, pulling back. 

"I have...but...you just don't know...it's so hard."

He let out a breathy chuckle. "God, you think I don't know that?"

"But I don't want to rush into anything," I said, and the next words out of my mouth terrified me even more, "and you said...you said you wanted to get..."

"Married," he finished with a grin, nodding, one hand finding my cheek again, then the other. "Yes."

"And...and I do too," I whispered. "But I'm scared. I'm scared we'll go too fast."

"Whenever it does happen, it'll always be too soon," Tom said, "if we listen to fear. But if we trust each other, and have each other's best interests at heart..." One thumb stroked my cheek under my eye, wiping away tears, and the other thumb came close to my lips, starting to trace them. "But I think we need to start thinking about it, seriously. Start talking about it, about how we want things to go. And when I come to L.A., we should probably start going to your church, talking to your priest."

"See?" I pointed out. "Isn't that too soon?"

"For talking? No," he assured me with a chuckle. "I haven't even proposed yet. Although don't think I didn't go insane enough, wanting to chase after you, that the thought didn't cross my brain."

Oh God. If he'd shown up with a ring, gotten down on one knee...that would have been disastrous. He saw my thoughts in my face. 

"I love how I can always read your eyes," he whispered. 

"I'm sorry for...for running away and scaring you," I whispered back.

"Well, we talked about visiting Cleveland," he teased. 

I shook my head. "Tom, no...I'm serious. I ruined...I ruined our trip. I ruined all the time we were going to spend together."

"No, put it away. I forgive you. Forgive yourself. And forgive me. Please."

"Of course I do. Of course." His lips brushed mine, careful not to press too hard. I glanced back toward the house and saw that Joey was still out in the yard, keeping a watchful eye as he pretended to do other things.

"And don't beat yourself up," he warned, pulling me back to look at him by his fingers under my chin. "Words I need to practice as well as preach."

I gave him a hesitant smile. "I just feel...stupid, on one hand. On the other I'm...unsure."

"Par for the course," he pointed out. "Even if stupid is the last word on the planet I'd use to describe you." He reached down, took my hand that rested between us. "But either way, I'm here, Michelle. And you're here. And that's how it's going to stay."

I stood with him, holding my hand, his other hand sliding up and down my spine, feeling the breezes whip around us. I stared at his face, at the goatee that had grown back in the days we'd been apart, at his eyes so bright and anxious as they searched my face. 

Everything inside me was still in turmoil. But, like the first time, I had to make that choice. I had to see this through, make utterly sure that something that felt right could actually be right.

And there was only one way to do that.

"All right, Tom," I agreed. "You're right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, there we go! And I'm sorry I haven't been replying lately to comments, I love and adore all your comments both for this series and for 7th Commandment, and I will reply to them very soon!


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